Orchards

Citrus.
The aroma swam through the thick heat, and up our nostrils.
We ran, Jessica and I, wearing flowered skirts free flowing in the wind.
Our tangled curls.
Hers fine and golden as the Arizona heat that beat upon our heads.
Mine black as the velvet desert midnight.
Whipping back from our sunbaked cheeks.
Our laughter stepped up the bars of the branches and climbed the clouds like notes dancing a scale.
Lemons, limes oranges.
The fragrance of innocence, youth, and summer rolled into perfect globes of
Orange green and yellow.
The orchards called our names, and we ran to answer.